


All the Pretty Ones

by satb31



Series: Amis et amants [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alley Sex, Anal Sex, Clubbing, Dancing, Drinking, Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/pseuds/satb31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prouvaire meets Courfeyrac in a club. Pure, unadulterated PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Pretty Ones

“Why are the pretty ones always taken?” Grantaire asked Prouvaire rhetorically, as they stood at the fringes of the crowd at the Musain, nursing their drinks -- a gin and tonic for Prouvaire, Guinness for Grantaire -- and taking in the scene. There was a music playing, and some of the bar’s patrons were dancing, although most of them were gathered in small groups, clandestinely checking each other out.

“Are you referring to someone in particular?” Prouvaire asked, sipping on his gin and tonic as he scanned the bar. He was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a worn t-shirt Grantaire had always threatened to throw out, but Prouvaire referred to it as his lucky shirt -- and it had been a long time since Prouvaire had gotten lucky.

Grantaire cocked his head to indicate a trio of men off to their right. “The blond in the red shirt,” he muttered. “He has to be with the one with the glasses, right?”

Prouvaire craned his neck to look at the two men his best friend was referring to, noticing that they seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation, their foreheads practically touching as the blond spoke passionately about something. He was gesticulating wildly as he made a point to the one with the glasses, who was listening intently with his lips pursed and a hand resting lightly on the small of the blond’s back. “Probably,” Prouvaire concluded with a sigh.

Yet as he spoke, a third man, who was with the couple, but standing slightly apart from them, clearly noticed that Grantaire and Prouvaire were watching, and winked at the two of them.

“Oh, good Christ, he saw us,” Grantaire moaned, turning away. “And he’s not even my type.”

“He could be my type,” Prouvaire mused. He had a thing for well-built men with curly dark hair -- and this one met both criteria easily. “He’s actually kind of cute, at least from here,” he murmured, half to himself.

“Well, you’re going to get to see him up close,” Grantaire said with a chuckle. “He’s coming this way.”

“Hey there,” the dark-haired man said, a greeting that was intended for both of them, although his eyes settled almost immediately on Prouvaire. “Thought I’d come over and say hello. I’m Courfeyrac.” For some men, this tactic would make them appear smarmy, but in Courfeyrac’s honeyed voice, it was just part of his charm.

“So are your two friends dating or what?” Grantaire blurted -- perhaps too eagerly, at least in Prouvaire’s opinion.

Courfeyrac glanced back over at his friends, who were still so engrossed in conversation they didn’t appear to have even noticed Courfeyrac was gone. “Who, Enjolras and Combeferre? Sort of, kind of -- well, it’s complicated,” he explained, which caused Grantaire to roll his eyes. “I guess you’re stuck with me then,” he said, making eye contact with Prouvaire. His eyes were the color of amber. “If that’s all right with you --”

“Jean Prouvaire,” the young man supplied, extending his hand to Courfeyrac. “But my friends call me Jehan.”

“Do you want to dance, Jehan?” Courfeyrac asked, as he held on to Prouvaire’s hand a little longer than necessary.

This man was smooth, Prouvaire thought -- but damn, he was effective. “Sure, why not?” he said with a shrug, handing his glass to Grantaire, who smirked at him. He allowed Courfeyrac to lead him out to the dance floor, where a song with a slow, seductive R&B beat had started playing.

“You like this?” Courfeyrac asked, putting his hand on Prouvaire’s waist and pulling him closer as he started swaying his hips in time with the song.

Prouvaire felt his cheeks burning, as he placed his hands tentatively on Courfeyrac’s waist. “It’s nice,” he replied, not knowing if he was referring to the song or the dance or even himself. He let Courfeyrac take the lead, enjoying the feeling of him getting closer and closer with every measure. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grantaire chortling in glee as he downed both drinks.

Grinning, Courfeyrac allowed his hand to roam over Prouvaire’s ass. “This is better,” he said, grinding his pelvis into Prouvaire’s. Prouvaire was almost certain he could feel Courfeyrac’s cock through his sinfully tight jeans -- and he was absolutely certain he could feel his own jeans getting tighter. “You’re so fucking hot,” Courfeyrac whispered in his ear.

Prouvaire closed his eyes and let the rhythms overtake him, enjoying the feeling of Courfeyrac’s hands all over his body, and of his warm breath when he started nuzzling his neck. When the song came to an end, neither man wanted to pull apart -- until Prouvaire surprised himself by asking, “Do you want to take this somewhere else?”

“What did you have in mind?” Courfeyrac purred, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

“I know the perfect place,” he said, tugging Courfeyrac by the hand and leading him out of the club.

The lucky shirt had worked its magic again.

**  
The alley out behind the club was deserted, as Prouvaire had predicted -- most of the bar’s denizens were more likely to leave the premises with their various hook-ups. But Prouvaire knew he there was no way he could make it back to his own apartment, and from the lustful look in Courfeyrac’s eyes, he was certain Courfeyrac felt the same way.

They looked at each other for a long moment, as their eyes adjusted to the dimness, but then they fell into a kiss. It was a kiss that was neither tender nor careful, but filled with pent-up desire -- at least on Prouvaire’s part, although from Courfeyrac’s ardor, he suspected it had been a while since he had done this either. As they kissed, Courfeyrac backed Prouvaire against the brick wall, caressing his face and using his free hand to cup Prouvaire’s erection. “Well, hello there,” Courfeyrac drawled, stroking his length through his jeans.

At this Prouvaire growled and pushed Courfeyrac against the opposite wall of the alley, smothering him with ferocious, needy kisses and letting his hands roam all over the other man’s muscular body. “Do you have anything with you?” he gasped between kisses.

“Front. Pocket,” Courfeyrac managed to say, his voice tight.

Prouvaire fished in Courfeyrac’s pocket, locating some lube and a condom. “Someone was feeling confident tonight,” Prouvaire teased. “Turn around,” he commanded.

Courfeyrac smirked at Prouvaire, then obeyed, undoing his jeans as he did so, tugging them down his thighs to reveal his rounded buttocks -- and a substantial erection. “You like this?” he said, placing his palms on the wall and peering over his shoulder at Prouvaire.

“Definitely nice,” Prouvaire mused as he slipped the condom into his own pocket and opened up the container of lube, which he smeared on three fingers of his left hand, trying to ignore the fact that the sight of a spread-eagled Courfeyrac was making him ridiculously hard. He placed his right hand on Courfeyrac’s hip and slid his left index finger between Courfeyrac’s cheeks to touch his entrance with his left index finger. Courfeyrac didn’t even flinch, so Prouvaire pressed forward, inserting his finger inside him, enjoying the sharp intake of breath that followed.

“Oh Christ,” Courfeyrac managed to say as Prouvaire began the process of opening him up -- he was extremely tight, Prouvaire noticed. As Courfeyrac began to relax, Prouvaire added a second finger, making a scissoring motion inside him but assiduously avoiding his sweet spot.

“You’d better fuck me fast before I come,” Courfeyrac warned.

At that Prouvaire withdrew his hand and unzipped his own jeans -- he was not wearing underwear, as was his custom, and stroked himself a few times until he was at full hardness. He rolled the condom onto his cock, then thrust inside Courfeyrac in a fluid motion until he was flush with Courfeyrac’s ass, enjoying the mewling sound that came from the dark-haired man’s mouth as he did so.

God, this felt so good -- he was so warm and so tight, and as he couldn’t even recall the last time he had done this, he knew he wouldn’t last long. To compensate for what he knew would be a quick coupling, he reached around and began to stroke Courfeyrac’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Courfeyrac came first with a loud shout, but Prouvaire followed in quick succession, sighing deeply as he came. He pulled out and tied off the condom, which he pitched into a nearby trashcan, then pulled up his jeans and wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to catch his breath.

Courfeyrac did the same, turning to face him as he readjusted himself. “Well, that was fun,” Courfeyrac observed as he zipped up his pants. “Can I buy you a drink now?”

Prouvaire chuckled, then pecked him on the lips. “I think we can both use one,” he said.

“Maybe we can get to know each other in other ways,” Courfeyrac teased. “As we’re obviously quite compatible in one very important way.”

“Indeed,” Prouvaire murmured, as he followed Courfeyrac back inside.

And as they walked in, Prouvaire sidled up to Grantaire, who had moved to the bar, where he was still watching Courfeyrac’s friends with a mournful look on his face. “So how was it?” he asked Prouvaire, looking him up and down.

“I can safely say,” Prouvaire replied, as he coyly eyed Courfeyrac as he returned to Enjolras and Combeferre. “Not all of the pretty ones are taken.”


End file.
